Super Shiny
by Teobi
Summary: Scott's hair is important to him. Based on Grandma and Virgil's lolworthy exchange while out shopping in 'Grandma Tourismo'.


"Grab some of that Supershine Gel for Scotty. I've never seen a boy spend so much time combing his hair."

"He does like it super shiny!"

\- Virgil and Grandma Tracy, _Grandma Tourismo_

* * *

His hair is important to him.

When he was a baby, his hair was so thick and curly that he was often mistaken for a girl. Women whose children and grandchildren had all grown up crowded around his buggy, cooing at the child with the big blue eyes and adorable little dimples. _Isn't she beautiful?_ they sighed, ignoring the blanket covered in little blue airplanes. Of course gender had ceased to be the primary defining characteristic of a person, but even so. Scott was the only one who couldn't understand why they couldn't tell he was a boy, even when faced with photographic evidence of his pretty eyes, long dark eyelashes and soft brown curls.

Scott has fond memories of his mother trying to tame his wayward curls into submission.

"Hold still, Scotty." Lucy threaded his hair through her fingers as she combed out the latest tangle of knots. Her son squirmed and wriggled, turning it into a game. "Oh, Scotty, stop fidgeting or I'll have to cut this out like I cut out the bubblegum."

He never listened of course. Scott was impulsive from day one. But he still recalls his mother's warm touch on the back of his neck and the teeth of the comb scratching over his ears. He gets sleepy just thinking about it. On the rare occasion that he leaves the island for a bit of shore leave, he loves the feeling of having his hair played with by romantic partners. They comb it through their fingers until the natural wave kicks in and springy locks fall over his forehead. In the absence of company, he runs his fingers through it himself. It comforts him, relieves his stress somewhat.

His mother had had wavy dark hair, almost black, and deep, chocolate brown eyes. Far back in her family there was Italian, and it showed in Lucy's exotic features. His father on the other hand, was a blond haired, blue eyed mix of Irish, Dutch, German and who knew what else lurked in his lineage. Jeff was as American and apple pie as anyone else born in the land of the free, and his sons were the same. As far as looks were concerned, they'd all inherited a good mix from each parent. Two blonds (one with brown eyes, one with blue), two brunettes (again, one with brown eyes, one with blue), and of course... John, the redhead with green eyes whose DNA origins were something of a mystery.

At the age of eleven, Scott finally had his luxurious curls chopped off. Lucy had grown weary of the constant battle to keep it clean and tangle free and marched him to the barber shop. She sat with a sad smile on her face as the barber impassively sheared off curl after curl after curl, watching as they fell to the floor without a sound. It was a rite of passage, although young Scott didn't even seem to care. He hated sitting still. He hated the barber tugging at his scalp and making him tip his head this way and that. _Hurry uuuppp_ , he whined. The sun was shining and he had better things to do than sit here all day. He didn't even notice his mother wiping away a tear and blowing her nose into a handkerchief.

At home, with his newly shorn hair, Scott was teased mercilessly.

"Hair cuuuutt," cried Virgil, whose own thick, black hair was not exactly perfect.

"Slaphead," shouted John, whose rich, golden-orange hair _was_ just about perfect.

But little Gordon cried as though his brother was a stranger, and Lucy had to pick him up and cuddle him. "Ssssh, there there Gordon. Scotty had a hair cut, that's all. It'll soon grow back, you'll see."

Looking back, Scott knew she was saying it as much for herself as for the bewildered Gordon. The mother/son bond had been strengthened by that hair time ritual, but now Scott's hair would never need de-tangling again. No more curls, except those little wayward ones at the front. No one could mistake him for a girl now. Scott couldn't be happier, even as his mother's heart broke. But he did do one thing for her- he kept it clean and combed. In fact he combed it so much it shone. She no longer had curls to run her fingers through so she began smoothing it down, helping him to make it perfect. They adapted and kept the ritual. Life returned to normal.

And then she died.

Scott combs his hair so much that it shines. A bit of gel to keep it in place, and he's ready for the day. There are a few noticeable grey strands at his temples but his father went grey early and anyway, a dash of salt-and-pepper makes a man look distinguished. Scott still has curls but he saves them for the people he loves the most. In public, it's business as usual, not a hair out of place. But at rest, or in the safe space of a lover's arms, he doesn't mind it getting messy- in fact, he welcomes it.

In all the years since that life-altering haircut, he has never had a single tangle in it. He remembers how frustrated his mom would get, faced with another mat or blob of gum stuck to his scalp. Never again will he or anyone have to pull so hard that his scalp throbs (or even sometimes bleeds) for the rest of the day. He keeps the hair time ritual. It's important to him. During that time he's still Scotty, and his mom is never far away.

He hopes she would be proud.


End file.
